


When Johnlock Met Stucky

by 221BJen (jcoz1701)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crack, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 14:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13549368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jcoz1701/pseuds/221BJen
Summary: What if Sherlock Holmes and John Watson existed in the same universe as Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes?





	When Johnlock Met Stucky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Callie4180](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Callie4180/gifts).



> This is for the best of betas that I know. She does so much and asks so little and I'm proud to call her my friend. Thank you, Mel, for all you do.
> 
> As for this story, this is what happens when I have an idea and gowerstreet doesnt' stop me.
> 
> Betaed by gowerstreet and chucksauce because they are awesome :)

“What  _ are _ you doing?”

John attributed the time spent living with Sherlock Holmes for his ability to not be startled easily. Plus, he knew that if he panicked and flipped the laptop closed, it would only make Sherlock more intrigued. As if that were possible. He calmly switched tabs.

“Just catching up on the BMJ.” It was a flimsy cover but it would have to do. Hopefully, Sherlock would get caught up in an experiment or whatever horror he had planned for the kitchen and forget all about it. He glanced up to meet pale, narrowed eyes.  _ Uh oh _ .

“You’re  _ fibbing _ . Your face is flushed, your breathing is slightly heavier than usual.” Sherlock stepped closer, leaning down to examine John’s eyes. “And your pupils are dilated.” John held his gaze until Sherlock smirked at him and declared, “ _ You _ have been watching  _ porn _ .” 

John closed the laptop. Honestly, porn would have been a better excuse than the journal. Now Sherlock would surely know that he had been  _ reading _ something and would know exactly where to start. Right. Distraction time. 

“I was waiting for you.”

It was a weak ploy but John wasn’t being completely dishonest. Sherlock had been gone all day. Judging by the tightly closed container that he still held under his arm, he’d also been prolific in his efforts to obtain whatever bits and bobs for his experiment from Molly. Still, he’d been gone and John had missed him. John always missed him when he was gone.

“Is that so?” The slight uptilt of the corner of Sherlock’s lips proved that he saw right through the subterfuge but was going to let him get away with it. He put the container down on the kitchen table with care and John made a mental note to steer well clear of it. Sherlock had left his coat on the hook downstairs for once and he unbuttoned his suit jacket one-handed as he approached John’s chair. 

The feel of Sherlock’s lips on his own was something that John was still getting used to but it was something that he was ready to practice for the rest of his life.

\--

John woke the next morning with a severe lack of Sherlock Holmes in his bed. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence. He counted himself lucky on the nights where he managed to fall asleep curled around that lanky body no matter whether or not Sherlock managed to slip away to do whatever it was that he needed to do.

He stretched, muscles pleasantly relaxed everywhere but for that perpetual tightness in his left shoulder. It wasn’t bad, nothing that a hot shower wouldn’t do wonders for, which was a miracle unto itself. A year ago he would have woken up in considerable pain, his body a knot of misery and grief. 

Sherlock had been dead then. And now he wasn’t.

And right now he was probably doing God knows what to the kitchen. If tea was to be had, John had better drag his arse out of bed and tend to it because it wasn’t going to make itself. He stretched again and sat up, giving his shoulder a rub. A cup of tea and a hot shower, preferably with company, would be the perfect way to start the day.

He fished a pair of boxers out of a drawer and pulled them on. Someone in this flat had to have a shred of modesty and it certainly wasn’t going to be Sherlock. It was encouraging that the hook that normally held Sherlock’s dressing gown was empty. John retrieved his own and wrapped it securely around him before venturing out into the flat-- 

\--A flat that was ominously quiet. He’d expected to at least hear the clinking of glassware or the scratching of Sherlock’s pen as he furiously took notes while his tea sat forgotten beside him. John listened carefully, hearing nothing for a few long moments until he heard what sounded suspiciously like a snort. His entire body relaxed as he shuffled down the hallway to the sitting room...and froze.

Sherlock was sitting in his own chair, ridiculously long legs stretched out before him, John’s laptop perched on his thighs. He looked up as John steeled himself for what was to come. A raised eyebrow was all it took for John to abandon his original trajectory and make for the kettle instead. If he was going to be the subject of Sherlock’s scorn then, by God, he was going to have a cup of tea. He filled the kettle and then leaned on the counter as he waited for it to boil and for Sherlock to speak. Sherlock was much quicker than the kettle.

_ “Steve’s breath caught and he allowed himself to be tugged flush to Bucky’s body. Bucky was just that much shorter than him, so they were eye to eye.” _ John startled so badly at the sound of Sherlock’s voice that he almost knocked over his waiting mug. He grimaced as he recognized the lines from the story that he’d been reading as Sherlock recited them in his rich, deep voice. A voice that was getting closer. He looked over as Sherlock rose, the laptop balanced on one arm as he continued to read.

_ “It was already warm in the club and Steve felt his face flush, could feel the same light sheen of sweat that was reflected on Bucky’s face and neck. He reached up and-”  _ Sherlock broke off, eyes drilling into John’s over the top of the laptop screen. “What is this utter drivel that you are rotting your brain with?”

John sighed. “Sherlock-”

“It’s completely implausible.” Sherlock scanned across the screen and clicked a few times. “These characters are-”

“Leave it, Sherlock.” John didn’t feel like defending his reading habits at the moment. He’d been looking forward to his morning and now that Sherlock had his teeth in this little puzzle he’d worry it like a terrier with a bone. 

Sherlock went on as if he hadn’t heard him. He probably hadn’t, the git. “-real people, John. Steve Rogers doesn’t race cars and James Buchanan Barnes doesn’t work in a garage.”

“Sherlock-” The note of warning in John’s voice was summarily ignored.

“I don’t understand how anyone could read this ridiculous-”

“Enough!” John crossed the scant space that separated him and yanked his laptop away, closing it firmly before dropping it into his chair. Sherlock’s mouth had closed with a click but John could tell that he was practically vibrating with his need to question what he’d just read. John scrubbed a hand over his face. “Can’t you just drop it?”

Sherlock gave him a piercing look, a look that John knew well. “You’re upset.”

“Got it in one, Sherlock. Yes, I’m bloody well upset.”

Sherlock drew closer. “But, why this? We’ve discussed your reading habits before and you’ve never reacted this way.”

“By discussed, I’m assuming you mean that you told me who the killer was by looking at the cover.” Sherlock started to speak and John held up his hand, cutting him off. “ _ Twice _ .” Sherlock huffed out a breath and crossed his arms in a way that normally would have had John grinning at his antics. But not this time.

“But why-” The stubborn man wasn’t going to give up that easily and John slumped his shoulders in reluctant defeat. He marched back into the kitchen as the kettle clicked off and made two cups of tea. He brought them both to the sitting room, pointedly placing Sherlock’s on the table beside his chair before moving his laptop to take his own seat. Sherlock stood in the middle of the room watching him a few seconds longer before sitting and taking his mug into his hands. 

John took a sip before sitting the mug down and clasping his hands in his lap. “When you died,” he saw Sherlock’s flinch and it made him not want to continue. But he’d been stupid enough to let his guard down and this is the price he had to pay. As silly as it seemed now. He cleared his throat. “When you died, I was not in a good way.” 

They’d talked about that before. Once. After far too much scotch.

“Anyway, not long after, well,  _ after _ , a hero came back from the dead.”

“Captain America,” Sherlock murmured. It was the first time John had heard him say the name without scorn. 

He went on. “I got a little--”  _ obsessed _ “--caught up in his story.”

That was an understatement. John had studied Captain America and his Howling Commandos in school, just like everyone else, but this was different. He’d read everything that he could get his hands on, even sending a late night desperate message to Mycroft for any more information on how Steve Rogers was brought back. That message, thankfully, had gone unanswered, although Mrs. Hudson seemed to be around quite a bit more after that. “I looked at conspiracy blogs and things that I’m not proud of.” He huffed out a harsh laugh. “What made it worse was when, two years later, they found Bucky Barnes, too.”

That had been a mess. John had watched, along with the rest of the world, as the events of Hydra and SHIELD had unfolded in Washington DC. That had been crazy enough. But then to find out that the man that had almost killed Captain America was actually his childhood friend and fellow Commando, Bucky Barnes? That had almost pushed John over the edge. 

There had been the well televised trial, detailing the atrocities to which Barnes had been subjected before it had exonerated him of all charges. John had followed it obsessively for weeks until something else had captured his full attention. 

Sherlock returning from the dead.

“So I started reading again. And this time, I found stories that people had written about both of them. I got hooked.” Sherlock was still staring at him and John went on to explain, “They were-”

“They were a comfort.” Sherlock’s normally sharp tone was gentle. He was still staring at John but it wasn’t taking him apart. It was, for once, the searching gaze of someone trying to figure out the best way to avoid causing any more pain. It was new and so different that it caught John by surprise the few times he’d seen it. They’d both changed so much since Sherlock had come back. Sherlock was quieter, more empathetic than he had seemed before. Which John had always thought was bollocks anyway. Sherlock cared, no matter if he showed it to the world or not.

John was quicker to talk. Not an outpouring of emotion and they certainly weren’t crying on each others shoulders, but it was better now. Better for both of them when he could put into words what he was feeling, what he wanted. He needed to do that.  _ Sherlock _ needed him to do that because god knows he didn’t know what the hell he was doing.

“I guess.” John shrugged. “No, that’s exactly what they were.” He snorted. “It wasn’t like I went looking for them or anything. I started going through the Hydra files because-” He hesitated. “Because I thought it was what  _ you  _ would do.”

Sherlock looked at him and the expression could only be classified as fond. And a little sad. He glanced back down at the screen and snorted. “They’re kissing now.” John shook his head. He was surprised to see Sherlock’s face lose it’s smirk and a slight flush tint his cheeks.

“Are you- You  _ like _ it!” John laughed out loud, the tension dissipating in a second.   

“Nope.” Sherlock closed the laptop with a snap. “It’s trite and poorly written. And invasive to the privacy of Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes.”

“Oh, they’re ‘Captain’ and ‘Sergeant’ now?” That was a delightful turn. “I can send you some links. If you like.” Sherlock rolled his eyes and John knew that a certain someone would be looking even more closely at his browsing history. 

“I have things to do. Important things.” Sherlock set the laptop aside and swept out of the room. Dramatic as always but John loved him for it.

\--

It wasn’t a week later before hell revisited London. And Sherlock was right in the middle of it, as per usual. There had been some strange sightings on Tottenham Court Road near the site of the refurbished station and Sherlock had been chomping at the bit to take a look. 

Which led them to their current predicament. Sherlock had disappeared around a corner and, despite John’s warnings and downright threats, was nowhere to be seen. He was walking down a narrow alley, gun at the ready when he saw a shadow out of the corner of his eye. He turned toward it, only to catch a glimpse of something  _ big _ from the other direction. 

Where the bloody hell was Sherlock?

John’s mobile buzzed in his pocket and he took the time to check it, on the rare chance that the stupid git was actually trying to reach him. No such luck.

**The Avengers have been deployed. I’m certain they don’t need your help or my brother’s. MH**

John was attempting to type **Fuck off** with one hand when the large shape made an appearance again at the end of the alley. Whatever the hell this thing was, it wasn’t from anywhere around here. Or the planet, for that matter. He eased his mobile back into his pocket and walked closer, sticking next to the brick wall for cover. He looked around the corner, but it was gone again.

He didn’t hear the whisper of another person until the deliberate crunch of boots on gravel.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, pal?” John turned, gun in hand, at the sound of the gruff, very  _ American _ , voice that had come out of nowhere. The man, in full black tactical gear, looked like he was armed for battle and John carefully kept his gun pointed at the ground, trying his best to look at non threatening as possible. 

“Who are you?” John couldn’t tell much about the man beyond the usual observations: height (taller than him, the git), weight (big, very big) and- Wait. Was that a metal arm? The man’s face was unreadable, covered with goggles and some sort of mask, but that arm could only belong to one person. “Can I put this away?” 

At a slight nod, John tucked his gun into the inner trouser holster that Sherlock had got him for his birthday last year. The man eyed him, a slight tilt to his head, and John held up his hands again, doing his best to look harmless. 

“John!” Sherlock’s shout startled John but the man, James Buchanan Barnes in the flesh, produced a handgun out of nowhere, hand steady and eyes narrowed in the direction of Sherlock’s voice.

John held out a placating hand. “It’s my partner. We’re here for same reason you are.” He wasn’t sure whether to be insulted by the snort he received or not.

“Sure you are.” Barnes’ voice held a trace of wry humor. It was a little disconcerting not being able to see his eyes, but John thought that he had relaxed just a bit. Until Sherlock came barreling around the corner that John had just looked around, something large and  _ alien _ behind him. 

“Move!” The word was barked out as an order and John automatically snagged Sherlock’s arm and pulled him down to the ground. He covered the struggling maniac the best he could, expecting to hear gunfire when the sound of something electric filled the air followed by the thud of something large hitting the ground.

Sherlock struggled beneath him and John slowly let him up, ready to grab an arm if he decided to do something foolish. Sherlock straightened his coat with a few tugs, giving John an aggrieved look. The quiet was broken by a huge sigh and they both turned to look at the  _ creature _ that was now filling most of the alley from wall to wall. 

“Oh. That is  _ magnificent _ .” Sherlock, without sparing a glance for the heavily armed man staring at him, marched right up to the alien creature that was apparently unconscious, judging by the deep breaths that John could see it taking. Sherlock swept his coat out behind him and dropped to a crouch to get closer to it.

“Is he always like that?” John looked at Barnes and had to repress a giddy giggle at the sight of him now that the danger was past. He had removed his goggles and mask and looked exactly like all of the pictures that had filled the websites when John was falling down the rabbit hole of obsession. It took him a moment to realize that he should probably answer instead of staring like a moron.

“Yeah. He is.” Barnes walked over and they watched Sherlock, who had snapped on some latex gloves, crawl over the beast. “Is it safe for him to do that?”

Barnes nodded. “According to Thor, it’s harmless. Just big and dumb.” He cocked his head, as if listening to someone. “Hang on.” He stepped away but John couldn’t help but hear his side of the conversation with whoever was on the other end of his comm. “Yeah, it’s down. I’m fine, Steve, it didn’t even get close to me. No, I’ve got a couple of civilians here. They’re fine, too. You don’t need- Sure, punk, get over here, I’m just waiting for clean up.” He huffed out a sigh and turned to John. “He’s got a few more minutes and then the clean up squad’ll be here.” He grimaced and then stuck out his hand. “Steve’ll have my hide for being rude. I’m Bucky, by the way.”

John took his hand and bit back the  _ I know _ that wanted to escape. “John Watson.” They shook and he nodded at Sherlock who was now examining the leathery skin with his magnifier. “That’s Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes.”

To his surprise, Bucky laughed. It was a rusty thing and John got the impression that it wasn’t something that came out very often. “Oh god, now I really can’t wait for Steve to get here.”

Steve had to be Steve Rogers. Captain America.  _ Bloody hell _ . “What?”

Bucky flashed him a small grin at that made him look years younger and impossibly handsome. “He’s a fan.”

“Fan?” John voice was faint and he felt like he was losing his mind.

Bucky shrugged. “He likes your blog.”

“My blog?” 

“For god’s sake, John, stop repeating everything he says.” Sherlock had paused in his investigation long enough to straighten up and glare at the two of them. “Despite your overly dramatic prose, your blog is a perfectly acceptable record of our cases. It’s not surprising that Captain Rogers would find it worth reading.” He gave Bucky an assessing look. “Does he read my blog, too?” He shook his head, holding up a hand against the answer. “I’ll ask him, myself.” 

Bucky looked at John with an incredulous expression. John shrugged. “Yeah, he’s always like that.” Any other conversation on the matter was halted at the sound of booted feet. A second later, Captain America himself was trotting up to them, shield and all. John felt like pinching himself to make sure this wasn’t a very vivid, but  _ weird _ , dream.

“Buck, you okay?” Steve Rogers was taller in person. He was dressed in a similar tac suit to Bucky, only his was blue instead of black and not nearly as imposing.

“I told you I was fine.” Bucky held his arms out and turned in a circle, ending with his hands on his hips in an exasperated pose that was a direct contrast to the silent soldier that he’d been moments before. “See? Not a scratch that wasn’t already there.”

Rogers took off his helmet and John had the same giddy feeling that he’d had when Bucky had revealed his face. It was really him. His left hand clenched and he shook it out, taking a breath to get himself together. He was not going to fanboy all over them. He wasn’t. Rogers was looking Bucky up and down like he didn’t believe him but he didn’t say anything.

“Okay.” Bucky rolled his eyes and Rogers smiled at him, big and bright. He looked at John and then at Sherlock before addressing Bucky again. “And these are your civilians?”

Bucky grinned again and John was surprised to find himself echoing the smile. It was a bit delightful to see. “Stevie, guess who this is.”

John was still boggling at  _ Stevie _ when Captain Rogers turned his full attention to him. And gasped. “Doctor Watson?”

Captain America knew who he was.  _ Steve Rogers knew who he was. _ “Please, call me John.”

He offered his hand and Steve Rogers shook it, saying, “Steve Rogers. Steve.” Steve turned back to Bucky grinning. “He writes that blog I told you about.” He took a better look at Sherlock and said, delighted, “You’re Sherlock Holmes.”

John turned to see Sherlock’s reaction and was stunned to see him blinking at them. At Steve Rogers. John was on the verge of asking him if he was alright when Sherlock stepped forward, smoothly taking off his gloves and stuffing them into his pocket. When he walked further into the light that filtered into the alley, John realized that he was  _ blushing _ . 

“I am. And you, as you said, are Captain Steve Rogers.” Sherlock clasped his hands behind his back and rocked back on his heels. “And you,” he tilted his head to the side, “are Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes.” 

“Nobody calls me that. Not anymore.” Bucky’s demeanor changed and the soldier was back. Steve put a hand on his shoulder and he relaxed just a bit. Sherlock watched them closely as he always did and John hoped he wasn’t about to tick off a supersoldier. He wasn’t sure even Mycroft would be able to do anything about that.

“Apologies.” Sherlock put his hands in his pockets and John could tell that movement for what it was. Nervous fidgeting. But he couldn’t quite tell who was making Sherlock nervous. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Bucky looked a little chagrined at his reaction. John saw Steve’s hand move to the back of his neck and give it squeeze. His eyes widened. Sherlock wasn’t the only one that could deduce things. He’d picked up a thing or two and this wasn’t something that was public as far as he knew. 

“What were you doing over there?” Steve directed this at Sherlock and John was amazed to see the blush return. Interesting. Steve stepped over to where Sherlock was standing near the downed creature and started asking questions.

“He’ll talk his ear off.” Bucky was standing next to John, arms crossed across his chest, a fond look on his face. John looked up at him. Why did they all have to be so bleeding tall? “I wasn’t kidding when I said he loves the blog.”

John watched the surreal sight of Steve Rogers, hands busily gesturing, talking to a straight-backed Sherlock Holmes. Who, for once, looked a little overwhelmed. It was a sight that John would savor for the rest of his life. “I’m glad he likes it.” There was the sound of a jet or something similar filling the air and they all looked up as bright lights washed over them.

“That would be our ride.” Bucky gave John a sloppy salute and turned to stalk over to where Steve was still talking at a tongue-tied Sherlock. “Steve, come on. Let the man get on with his night.”

“Sorry. We should probably go.” He held out a hand to Sherlock, who shook it, still silent. “It was nice meeting you. It was nice meeting you both.” He waved to John, who lifted a hand in return. Sherlock turned his back on the two and moved toward John and then kept walking past him. John smirked to himself and followed.

They made it all the way to the street before John spoke. “So.”

“Not a word.” It was more a whine than a request. John chuckled to himself and Sherlock whipped around to face him. “Fine. Go ahead. You’ll be insufferable otherwise.”

“So, that does it for you, then? Tall, blond and built like a brick house?” John felt a small twinge of insecurity wash over him as he teased but he knew that Sherlock cared for him. Sherlock peered at him and John rolled his eyes, sure that he could see that little crack in his confidence.

Sherlock put both hands on his shoulders. “Noble, yes. Brave, of course.” He smirked and pulled John to him, wrapping him up in his arms. “Tall, no.”

John struggled half-heartedly and pulled back enough to look up at him. “Cock.”

“Indeed.” John snorted and accepted the apologetic kiss. “Home?”

“Sure.” They separated and headed toward a better area to call a cab. On the way, John’s mobile buzzed in his pocket.

**And how are Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes? MH**

**In possession of one ugly creature JW**

**By the way, Stucky is canon JW**

**You owe me a tenner JW**

**I am a man of my word. MH**

John ignored the curious glance sent his way and put the mobile back in his pocket. He was going to savor this moment. It wasn’t everyday that your OTP became canon, after all.

\--

Steve took one last look at the whatever-the-hell Asgardian beast that was now secured in the hood of quinjet just to put his mind at ease. Bucky had taken it down easily with one of Tony’s suped up tasers but they had used the tranquilizer generally set aside for the Hulk just to make sure it stayed asleep until Thor took delivery. He smiled to himself as he made his way back to the front where Bucky was sitting next to Hill’s pilot seat looking at something.

Bucky heard him coming, of course he did, and looked up with a grin. “Hey, Stevie. You might want to see this.”

Steve stood next to him and peered down at the screen. It showed two men talking and then the tallest of them pulled the other to him in an embrace, kissing him gently before they laughed together and walked toward the street. “Didn’t take you for that much of a voyeur, Buck.” He glanced between the two of them. “Do I want to know where this came from?”

Bucky poked him in the ribs and he flinched away. He could be a merciless tickler when he got going. “No, look closer.” He nodded at Maria who grinned and poked at the screen, rewinding the scene. Steve looked again and made a strangled sound.

“Nat owes me ten bucks!” 

**Author's Note:**

> The fic that Sherlock reads from is my own 'Give Me Fuel, Give Me Fire'. I will never forget getting stuck and having Mel sit down with a bottle of wine across the table from me at 221B Con and saying, "So. Let's talk about Bucky Barnes." 
> 
> Here's a link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/11861211/chapters/26780778


End file.
